<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>I've Got Good Music On My Radio by The_Fannish_Imposition</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28307889">I've Got Good Music On My Radio</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fannish_Imposition/pseuds/The_Fannish_Imposition'>The_Fannish_Imposition</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>That's The Sweet Touch Of Love [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, First Christmas, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, You Have Been Warned, assholes in love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:15:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,203</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28307889</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fannish_Imposition/pseuds/The_Fannish_Imposition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Noah gets an unexpected visitor when he's forced to work on his and Peter's first Christmas Eve.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Hale/Sheriff Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>That's The Sweet Touch Of Love [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I've Got Good Music On My Radio</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I had the idea for this story like two weeks ago.  Then work got crazy and I decided not to bother.  Then I was drinking and listening to Christmas music and this happened.  It's just a short little moment of pure Hallmark-level fluff, and references at least vaguely both You Put The Boom, Boom Into My Heart and Tag, You're It (though like both of those works as a stand alone as well), so I should probably see about making them a series at some point when I am not still tipsy on wine.  ;D</p>
<p>This is not beta'd, it's barely even edited.  I hope it's cute anyway, and I hope it brings a bit of enjoyment to your holidays, whatever ones they might be.  :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>- <em>“</em><em>And up next we have ‘You Make It Feel Like Christmas’ going out from C to M: ‘Thank you for making the holidays bright again, chérie.’” -</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Noah tossed his pen down with a sigh as the bubbly twang of Blake Shelton’s vocals began to echo through the office, bringing one hand up to rub at his tired eyes. He’d been working on these reports for so long the lines were starting to converge into one fuzzy, swirling blur. If he was going to actually make any headway in reducing his backlogged paperwork while he was stuck here, he was going to have to get more coffee in his system. <em>God he was getting too old for this double shift bullshit</em>. Standing, he stretched deeply, grunting when his spine let out a couple of loud pops. <em>Definitely too old</em>. Grabbing his cup he headed out to the break room in search of some much needed caffeine, nodding at Deputy Winslow, who’d agreed to cover the front desk and phones tonight. She nodded wearily back, rather poorly hiding her paperback underneath the stack of papers <em>she</em> was supposed to be working on. He just didn’t have it in him to call her out on it at this point, continuing on past like he hadn’t noticed anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By all rights he should be at home, curled up on the couch with Peter, watching Die Hard, eating junk food, and enjoying their first Christmas Eve together. But then Garcia’s well-meaning mother-in-law had given his energetic (and highly competitive) five year old twins their first sets of roller skates, and the resulting spontaneous roller derby had landed them at the ER with what was hopefully only a sprained ankle and a sprained wrist, and some minor emotional trauma for all involved. Vividly recalling many such incidents with his own son over the years (he still shuddered when he remembered Stiles’ attempt to recreated the ‘sledding down the stairs’ scene from Home Alone), Noah had agreed to stay and cover the other man’s shift for him. It was disappointing, but they’d still have tomorrow together (and he hoped many, many more holidays, if he had any say in the matter.) It was just...well...the principle of the thing. Or something. Finally reaching the break room, he zeroed in on the fancy Keurig and extensive selection of K-cups that had been gifted by an “anonymous donor” (he still suspected Derek, but had never been able to prove it), sorting through to find something strong and heavily caffeinated. As he fit his selection into the machine, pressing buttons with the finesse of long practice, he reflected that at least Peter had been relatively understanding about the change in their plans...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>************</p>
<p>
  <em>“</em>
  <em>Still hoping someone will get you one of those World’s Best Boss mugs one day, I see,” he’d teased when Noah had called to let him know, the background filled with the oddly disconcerting reverb of the radio playing the same radio station as his own.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “You’ve got me. I just couldn’t resist the lure of that sweet, sweet stoneware. You figured out my secret.” If his tone had been any drier it would have evaporated the ink in his pen.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “I’ve figured out quite a few of those, thank you very much.” Peter’s voice held that strange mix of smug and sincere that only Noah and a very select few others ever managed to bring out. “But not nearly as many as I plan to.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Noah felt himself smiling goofily despite himself. “Mm-hmm. Speaking of secrets, don’t think my comparatively weak human ears can’t still hear that crunching noise. There better be some of that kettle corn left for me when I get home.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> His answer was even more obnoxiously loud chewing, followed by a deeply innocent-sounding “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “Oh, how rude of me to suspect you of any wrongdoing. I’m sure you haven’t already dragged my comforter downstairs to snuggle under since I’m not there, either.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “I refuse to dignify these completely uncalled for and spurious accusations with a response.” Noah could hear the edge of laughter in the wolf’s tone that he was failing utterly to hide.  It made him miss him all the more.</em>
</p>
<p>************</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sudden gurgling burst of air from the Keurig cleaning itself out jolted him back to reality. He snagged his now-full cup, blowing steadily across the top to try and cool it, vaguely registering his foot tapping along unconsciously with the radio further down the counter, now playing Stevie Wonder’s ‘What Christmas Means to Me’. His impatience finally getting the better of him, he took a large gulp of still very hot coffee. It burned the hell out of his mouth, but the rush of it hitting his system made it totally worth it. By the time he wandered back to his office, he was idly humming along with Nat King Cole, and wondering just what roasted chestnuts actually tasted like, and if he could find a way to try them that didn’t involve open flame, because he had no desire to do that to his boyfriend, even if Peter wouldn’t admit aloud to still having issues with fire. As he settled himself back into his chair and prepared to dive back into the endless piles of paperwork, the voice of the radio announcer broke into his focus once more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> - “Up next we have Ariana Grande’s cover of ‘Santa Baby’ going out from N to I: ‘Missing you terribly, darling. </em>
  <em>We’ll see each other again</em>
  <em> soon, I promise.’ </em>
  <em>And remember, if any of you listeners out there have a dedication of your own you’d like to make, we’ll be taking requests all night.</em>
  <em>” -</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And all of a sudden, Noah got an idea. Noah got a wonderful, awful idea. Feeling an evil, Grinch-like smile curling up his lips, he pulled out his cell phone, dialing the number that the station kept reciting before and after each ad break. Luck seemed to be on his side as he got through almost right away. The cheerful voiced operator assured him they’d get his request in as soon as possible. With a polite thanks, he hung up and set his phone aside, still smirking as he finally got back to what he was actually supposed to be doing. He let the music fade into the background as much as he could, catching the occasional check-in from one of the patrol cars over his shoulder radio. After finishing another three folders of reports, he took a break to sip at now lukewarm coffee, and heard what he’d been waiting for.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>- <em>“Well, folks, you knew it had to happen eventually. Our next dedication is the ever inescapable ‘Last Christmas’ from Wham!, going out from N to P: ‘You know exactly why, you brat. I’ll be home to you as soon as I can.’”</em> -</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the bouncy synthesizer notes started to fill the air, Noah felt a smile tugging at his lips as he pictured Peter’s reaction. He dearly hoped that his boyfriend was still listening to the radio like he had been earlier. He knew his chances were good. Peter wouldn’t watch any of their planned movie list without him, and he knew damned well the wolf had already found the fancy hardback Folio Society copy of The Princess Bride that Noah had gotten him (at a price he was still trying not to think about), because he’d caught him with it on his way out the door this morning. He’d wanted to be irritated, but had just pressed a kiss to his forehead and told him to enjoy it, before heading in for his first shift of the day. With any luck, the need to actually stop and shower, and eat something, would have taken long enough that he would still be reading and listening to the radio instead of napping or channel-surfing. But as time passed with no text response or phone call, Noah decided he must have not heard after all. With a somewhat morose mental shrug at the lost opportunity, he focused back in on his work, determined to get as much of it finished as he could before he left.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sudden, sharp rapping at the frame of his open office door broke him out of his haze of indecipherable handwriting and tiny copy print. Pen falling from slack lips, he blinked in surprise at the sight of Peter leaning against the jamb, holding a pair of insulated bags and looking as elegantly amused as always. A quick glance at his watch showed that it had been a good half an hour since his song request had played. He blinked a few more times in confusion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Peter? What are you doing here?” Noah was incredibly happy to see him, but was determined to maintain a level of dignity commiserate with someone of his maturity and stature, dammit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, I was rather forcefully reminded that there are <em>some</em> people of my acquaintance who suffer from occasional delusions of humor, and then I began to wonder if our hardworking elected officials were at least allowed a meal break at any point. The very polite young officer at the desk assured me that they were, and that you had yet to take yours, so,” he held up the bags in his hand. “Here I am.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Noah felt that goofy smile spreading across his face again, and didn’t even bother trying to fight it. “Well then, what sort of impressive snacks have you brought?” Before Peter could even get his mouth all the way open, he added, “Aside from yourself, of course.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Visibly torn between irritation at being beaten to the punchline and smug preening at the implied compliment, Peter ultimately settled for throwing him a halfhearted glare as he closed the door and sat the bags on Noah’s desk, rifling absently through them. “Since simplicity seemed the best option, I brought some of the pot roast I threw in the slow cooker this morning,” he said, placing a pair of Tupperware bowls on either side of the desk along with a set of silverware. “And if I decide you deserve them, I brought some of those chocolate chip cookies you made for dessert.” He reached into the other bag. “And in the interest of making this at least somewhat festive, while acknowledging that you <em>are</em> technically on duty…,” he sat down a pair of plastic wineglasses and a bottle of sparkling cider with a flourish. That done, he moved the bags to the floor beside the desk and shot Noah a challenging raised eyebrow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you, Peter.” His smile by this point had blown right past goofy into unashamedly besotted, and he didn’t care in the slightest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A smile twitching at the corners of his own lips, Peter circled around the desk, dropping gracefully into Noah’s lap and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Noah slid his hands around Peter’s waist, the material of the wolf’s midnight blue sweater luxuriantly soft beneath his fingers. He leaned up to meet his boyfriend’s lips for a soft, sweetly lingering kiss. Eventually Peter leaned back to nuzzle his cheek against Noah’s.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know, there’s a surprisingly comfortable couch right over there that was actually designed to hold more than one person.” Noah’s tone was as gently teasing as his grin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I mean, I suppose if you insist, but I’m perfectly comfortable right here.” The arms loosely encircling his shoulders tightened their embrace, sliding up around his neck as Peter leaned in to press their foreheads together. Faint clinking alerted Noah to the fact that his gifted dog tags were likely hidden under designer cashmere again. Noah found himself caught in the endless blue of Peter’s eyes, lost in thoughts of pristine mountain lakes and cloudless evening skies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” he finally managed, voice a breathy rumble. “I guess you’ve got a point there.” He tightened his own grip, cuddling Peter even closer. Another tenderly smug smile tugged at those tempting lips as he shifted to nuzzle into Noah’s temple, scenting deeply. Noah pressed a few light kisses along the hinge of Peter’s jaw before tucking his face into the bend of his neck, resting his head on that strong shoulder. Their food was probably getting cold, but he really couldn’t care less about that right now. He had everything he needed right here. On the radio the latest ad break finally came to an end, the announcer winding up his spiel about the weather (cold.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>- <em>“All right, we actually have a response dedication that came in, which is something of a first for us. Here’s Norah Jones’ ‘It’s Not Christmas ‘Til You Come Home’, going from P to N: ‘I miss you, too, ...uh..., a-hole (sorry, don’t think I can say that on the air without angering some sponsors.)’”</em> -</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the smooth vocals poured from the tinny speakers, Noah felt a feather soft kiss press against his forehead, Peter’s lips brushing like butterfly wings as he spoke. “Merry Christmas, my love.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Noah felt his own answering whisper echo in the warm, tremulous space between them. “Merry Christmas, miłość.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>- <em>“...</em><em>t</em><em>he snowflakes won’t fall, we can’t deck the halls, it’s not Christmas ‘til you come home…” -</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Merry Christmas, if you celebrate!  Happy Holiday-of-your-choice if you don't!</p>
<p>Comments welcome, and please feel free to let me know if you notice any glaring typos or anything, this was written up under the influence of a nice, local blackberry wine, so my skills at spotting whoopsies are even worse than normal right now.</p>
<p>And yes, the other dedications are references to other ships (one TW, one another fandom I've been in), feel free to take a guess at them if you wish.  ;D</p>
<p>Title is from 'Merry Christmas, Baby', which has been done by a number of artists.  I think the version on my Spotify playlist is by Otis Redding.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>